Break the Damn Egg Already

I don’t want to write this. I’m afraid that words will strip this of its meaning, that they will change this from being something real into something that James Dobson would write and then make lots of money off of. Maybe it’s part of what this is, but I’m tired of money, and I don’t want to be James Dobson.

Two days ago, I was pretty sure I was going to get this job. It sounded pretty cool, and I thought that I would be pretty good at it, maybe better than anyone else could be. Then yesterday I sat down for something kindof like an interview, and found out that someone just like me, someone unique in all the ways that I was unique, was also applying for the job, and that this was someone that I knew. I felt like someone had just replaced Saturday morning cartoons with CNN. It didn’t really change anything, but it changed everything. All of a sudden there weren’t really any good options. Either he would get the job and I wouldn’t, which would suck. Or I would get the job, and he wouldn’t which would suck. Either way, suckage had entered into the situation. In a tiny way, I felt like I identified with God in the beginning of Genesis. There was something good, that didn’t really have any reason to be bad, and all of a sudden there wasn’t really any option for it to be anything other than bad. I know I’m not God. But I am dramatic, and in that moment I felt bad for God.

I had a few hours to kill, so I went to a nearby Starbucks to have the worst latte of my life. It was strangely comforting to know that even though I was feeling really bad, there was something worse in the world, and I was drinking it. I sat down and started reading the Bible, because I figured I really needed the Big Guy on my side. 30 minutes ago, I had it under control, but now I was soliciting help. I guess that’s Theology. I was in John, and so I picked up reading about Jesus. It didn’t make me feel better. He was kindof a crazy guy, and when I imagined him in the chair opposite me, I’m not sure if he would have comforted me or called me an idiot. Either way, he would then take a sip of his latte, make a face, and agree with me that some things were unforgivable, even for him.

As I read, my craziness subsided to a normal level, and once Jesus died I switched books to Blue Like Jazz, and read that for a bit. Like 100 pages. I’m pretty sure that Donald Miller would have called me an idiot for being worried about stupid things like jobs and money, but he definitely would have agreed about the coffee. As I read these two guys talking about Jesus, I felt kindof silly, like I was missing the point. The job wasn’t the point. I was there because it felt right, which is kindof my way of saying that I Felt God’s Leading without sounding like someone who never drank beer or listened to rock music (1). And if it was Right, then God will take care of it, and if it Isn’t Right, then I don’t really want any part of it. I felt silly, because here I was reading about lame people playing soccer and blind people watching Lost and dead people getting up and playing Wii, and I was worried about whether or not He could get me a job.

Then the next day I sat down and listened as an Indian guy named Ezra talked about how he ended up in China. Well, his name wasn’t really Ezra, it was something long and hard for me to pronounce, but everyone called him Ezra and he said it was OK. He and his wife and their one year old son came to China because God told them to. They sold everything they had (3), bought plane tickets before they had Visas, and showed up in Shanghai with $100, which isn’t that much, even in China. He said that God’s will was like an egg, and we had to wait for it to hatch in its own time. He said that sometimes his mom would gently help the baby chickens, but only barely, and that was OK, because she was like God helping the slower ones of us live out his plan. He just got accepted to Oxford, but is waiting for a scholarship, and isn’t sure if it’s the right thing to do, but it sounds like it is, but maybe it isn’t, and … and he’s waiting for the egg to hatch. Listening to Ezra made me feel silly and vain and self-centered, which is OK, because I am those things. Ezra also reminded me that Christians should want what God wants.

As basic as the thought it, it helped me. It put things in perspective. It made me feel OK giving the best presentation I could and then leaving it up to God. In a small way (4), I’m glad that this guy applied for the job. Had things gone smoothly, I would have thought that I got the job, because I’m so amazing and white and Chinese speak-y. Now I’m thinking a lot more. I’m praying a lot more. And if things go well, then I’ll be a lot more thankful to God. If things go poorly, then it’ll be OK, because I trust that God’s in the situation.

Well. I should say, it would be somewhat OK. It’s one thing to know, another to feel. I’ve heard somewhere that the six inches between the brain and the heart are the longest six inches in the world. My friend Keegan would say that he could think of something else that is a longer six inches, but mostly I just smile and shake my head when he says things like that. So now I’m praying, praying that my heart and my head would become better friends, praying that I would get my head out of my own ass. Mostly I’m praying the latter, but when nice people ask, I usually tell them the former. Most of all, though, I’m praying that God would help me to want His will more than I want this job.

Sometimes, I do.



(1) I’m not afraid of talking about God or saying his name. I just don’t really like a lot of the people who do (2). You know, the ones who say, “Jesus told me to break up with you,” instead of, “I got bored of you,” or who say “God bless you,” when I’m pretty sure they aren’t thinking about God, blessing, or even me. They just mean goodbye. I think that words are special, and that if you use a hammer as a paper weight long enough, you’ll forget how awesome carpentry is.
(2) Well. They’re OK. OK, I like a lot of them. I just don’t want to be mistaken for them.
(3) Literally, not metaphorically like we like to think about it. We’re talking refrigerators and dishwashers everything, not “I’m sold out for Jesus” everything.
(4) A small, amicably bitter, and comically squinty eyed way…